Thoughtful Presents
by icecream-ox
Summary: A collection of HitsuMatsu oneshots, based on the 'thoughtful presents' they give each other, both noticed and unnoticed. Ch7 - Asphyxia.
1. Thoughtful Presents

**Title : Thoughtful Presents**

**Author's Note : Yes, this is hitsumatsu - i just had a random idea for a oneshot so here it is! Reviews are welcome**

**Disclaimer : Bleach is not mine and never will be**

_Sometimes I wish,_

_Wish so hard,_

_That I could become a child again,_

_And relive the time of my life._

Though you wouldn't believe it, Hitsugaya Toushiro acted the age that he was. He did normal kiddish things, like laughing and smiling, and mucking about.

Very few people know how to make him smile.

Matsumoto Rangiku often wonders what the hell happened to the kiddish side. There was once a time after he had just become her taicho that he pulled faces at paperwork and challenged her to watermelon seed-spitting competitions in the summer.

But as the years went by, this side of him disappeared almost completely, until his work was pretty much the only life he had, and he acted more mature than a majority of the other captains, all at least twice his age.

It was like his childhood disappeared too fast. A bit like hers.

She, having grown up in the very outskirts of Rukongai, where she had to live and support herself, had to grow up quickly to e able to survive. She missed out on all of the games, sweets and fresh food that were taken for granted in the inner circle of Rukongai and inside Seireitei.

She wishes that she could have had all of these luxuries, that she could have stayed a child for a little longer, that she could have had a better start to her life, so she doesn't like seeing him like this – all grow up, tossing childhood behind like it means nothing. She knows that he will regret doing that doing someday, that he'll see the real importance of being a child. He means a lot to her – more that he'll ever know. She doesn't want him to make the same mistakes as her.

So she goes shopping.

Not for herself for once, but for him.

She returns to her division office about an hour or so after she departed, supporting two large, bulging bags.

The groggy midsummer temperature keeps on rising higher and higher, the suns rays beating down onto the roofs of buildings. Hitsugaya sits at his desk, fanning himself with one hand while completing the paperwork with the other. When he hears the door open, he looks up, and prepares himself to make the usual 'Matsumoto-where-the-hell-have-you-been-you-should-have-been-doing-paperwork' speech, but stops himself when he sees the two bags in her hands, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

She looks up with a smirk on her face.

"Watermelon, taicho?" she asks, her voice light and carefree.

He puts down his brush, and smiles.

Very few people know how to make him smile.

Matsumoto Rangiku is one of them.

And knowing this is enough to make her eternally happy.


	2. Umbrella

**Umbrella**

**A/N: Another hitsumatsu oneshot. I'm really starting to like this couple Hope you like it, and reviews are welcome as always.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or the song Umbrella **

_When the sun shines, we shine together,_

_Told you I'll be here forever,_

_Said I'll always be your friend,_

_Took an oath, I'm gonna stick it out to the end._

_Now that it's raining more than ever,_

_Know that we'll still have each other,_

_You can stand under my umbrella,_

_You can stand under my umbrella._

It rains a lot in Soul Society.

The heavy droplets pelt downwards, soaking the ground, disrupting training sessions, forcing figures to dash indoors. Eyes subconsciously watch droplets race down window panes, trying to see past the blurriness. Higher figures turn grudgingly towards desks and paperwork, anticipating hot tea to warm their shivering bodies.

Hitsugaya taps his fingers rhythmically on the mahogany desk surface, brush resting loosely in his right hand, paperwork in front of him no longer relevant.

He heard the rainstorm start, and he hears it now, lashing out hard on the roofs, windows, the outside world.

He wonders where Matsumoto is.

Normally, when the first warning drops fall, she dashes inside, afraid of messing up he hair or make up, jokingly complaining about how it always seems to rain on her.

But today – today there is no sign of her. No one dashes into the office, no swish of strawberry blond hair at the doorway, no cheery laugh echoing down the corridors.

And he's worried. She hasn't been herself recently – he can't help but notice.

So he goes in search of her.

He clutches the snowflake patterned umbrella (it was Matsumoto's favourite – she said it reminded her of him) tightly in his hand, kicking the puddles with his feet as his eyes skim around the gardens, squinting through the greyness, searching for her.

Just as he is about to move onto the next section, he spots a patch of blond and pink among the dark out of the corner of his eye. His pace quickens as he comes closer – and stops suddenly as he sees her face.

Tear tracks shown clearly down her cheeks by running eye make up, puffy red eyes and an entirely helpless look – things you'd never expect to see on her face stand out like a torch at night. Her eyes stare unfocused into the blurry distance, salty tears mixing with the falling rain.

He unsteadily walks the last few steps until he is right next to her.

"Matsumoto…"

She jumps slightly, finally aware of his presence, and attempts to wipe away her tears with the heel of her palm, sniffing, giving him a weak smile as if to reassure him.

"What are you doing out here? You're shivering…"

He continues to inspect her with a concerned look, his emerald eyes full of confusion and empathy.

Sniff. "Just thinking about … things…" Gulp.

It was then he noticed just how much _he_ had hurt her.

And he did something that Matsumoto was not expecting.

He planted himself next to her on the damp bench, and lifted the umbrella over her head, protecting her from the rain.

"Taicho… what are you…"

"Thinking with you," he replied with a rare smile.

He knows very well the pain that she is going through – he was betrayed in a similar way by someone equally as close to him. He knows exactly what she needs – someone to talk to and support her.

He knows he can't chase away the rain for her, but he can protect her from it the best he can.

With his umbrella.


	3. Make Up

**Make-up**

**A/N: This was a random idea which popped up, so I hope you like it! reviews are welcome **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. cries Or the song 'She moves in her own way'**

_It's not about your make up,_

_Or how you try to shape up._

_To these tiresome paper dreams. _

It was part of Matsumoto's daily morning routine.

Every day, after waking up at round about eight-ish (which is already an hour late of the recommended time for higher-ups), she sits in front of the mirror and stand, and applies her make-up.

She has done it every morning for the past ten years or so, carefully placing on her face mascara, eyeliner, blusher, foundation, eye shadow … the list goes on and on and on. This whole activity takes her at least thirty minutes to complete, thus making her even later for her work. But she has never cared about being on time – she never kept up with it even when she was little.

The reason why she does this?

She feels that it makes her more confident, prettier, and most importantly - in hope that it will catch _his_ eye.

But it never has.

Today – today, she falters slightly as she approaches the mirror and stand. She knows that he hasn't taken any notice before, and probably won't, so, frankly, she can't see the point of wasting expensive make-up.

So she takes one last glance at it before turning away and donning her pink silk scarf (given to her as a birthday present from her taicho a few years back), and leaving her room for the division study.

When she arrives at the door, she takes a deep breath and opens it, walks in confidently as usual, and shouts out a cheery "Morning, Taicho!" plonking herself down in her desk seat.

And Hitsugaya's voice catches her by surprise.

"You look nice today, Matsumoto," he complements, with a smile.

She covers up her pleasant shock by replying in a small voice, "Thank you."

Matsumoto had just learnt a valuable lesson.

Don't cover yourself up under something you know you aren't.

Be yourself, and someone will notice and love you for who you are.

And the make up on her stand in her room remained untouched for the many weeks to come.


	4. Summer Festivals

**Summer Festivals**

_Hey, sorry for the really long delay! (dodges flying bricks) I was on holiday until quite recently so I wasn't able to update. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's slightly longer than usual, and it's mainly based on the natsumatsuri (summer festival) I went to with my friend in Japan a few weeks ago. Also, thank you very much to everyone who has reviewed so far, every single one has been well appreciated!_

**I Don't Own Bleach **

They watch as the fireworks shed their colourful petals across the night sky.

Every summer in Seireitei, they hold this festival, courtesy of Shiba Kuukaku, and everyone, every single Shinigami, flocks onto in the wide streets, some climbing onto rooftops, just to see the bright explosives rise up into the sky. It has become something like a tradition, something they all look forward to, something that they enjoy, and occasion where they can rely on to have fun.

Every summer, Hitsugaya watches quietly from the roof of his office, a little distance away from where the main gatherings are, content with watching the events unfold on his own. He prefers it that way – at least its better that down on the streets around the first five divisions where refreshment stalls leak the strong smells of all sorts of food and drink, where it's so crowded you can't move a meter in one direction in less that ten minutes, where members of a certain division take it upon themselves to create havoc and fight in the streets (three guesses which division – first two don't count).

Not that he's ever witnessed or experienced any of the above – he hears rumors, or catches snippets of happenings from Matsumoto's non stop gossip two days after (she takes the day after off due to severe hangover ness), and that's enough to keep his away from the red light area.

And every summer, Matsumoto insists that he's missing out on all the fun.

Personally, he always says, if it's what Matsumoto calls fun, he'd rather stay out of it, thank you very much.

But this summer, Matsumoto intends to not let him sit on the roof like he always does, and instead drag him down to where the centre of the festival is.

About half an hour before the fireworks were due to start, the corridors and offices were silent and empty, save one – the 10th division office, where Hitsugaya sulked at his desk due to the amount of paperwork which Matsumoto had thrust upon him when she left about three hours ago to go 'get ready'. As soon as this pile was done, he'd climb up the steps to the roof, he promised himself. But the fact that the surrounding area was so still, so hushed, he found it hard to concentrate. He was used to working with the noisy complaints of his lieutenant, the shouts and scuffle of fights in the neighbouring eleventh division, the candy filled scream of a certain little brat from next door.

It was just too quiet.

…Okay, maybe not, he thought, as he heard a rush of footsteps that sounded like a herd of elephants galloping down the corridor, accompanied by shouts and laughs of familiar voices. He sighed, shook his head, and went back to his paperwork.

But he couldn't complete the last action due to the fact that he was too busy getting up from the floor where he had fallen after he jumped ten feet into the air, and his ass missing his chair on the way down.

Why?

Because of the sudden appearance of his lieutenant along with all of the shinigami above vice-captain class through his doorway, all wearing colourful yukata and supporting huge smiles. Before he could blink, Matsumoto was at his side, clutching his arm tightly, not letting go however hard he squirmed.

And he was being dragged out of the door, despite his desperate protests.

About an hour later, he sat on a stone step, surrounded by chatting individuals, watching the last of the fireworks struggle up into the air, finishing and enjoying his first okonomiyaki, all with a smile on his face, and all thanks to Matsumoto. His emerald eyes were wide and bright, reflecting the light of the fireworks, his silver hair messed up slightly in the light breeze, his hands clutching on to the plastic plate on which the snack had been served on.

This summer, Hitsugaya did not spend the fireworks festival all on his own on the rooftop of his office. Instead, he joined in on the celebration along with every single shinigami in Seireitei, and discovered that it was better that he expected.

And it was all Matsumoto's idea.

He glanced to the shadow to his left. Matsumoto was perched on the very edge of the step, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes were fixed on the happenings in the sky, and while they illuminated her face perfectly, they could not remove the stains of okonomiyaki sauce from her face. But he liked it this way.

The whole night of fun he had at the festival, he owed to her.

"Thank you," he whispered.

They both watched, side by side, as the last firework scattered its light across the stars.


	5. Forty Winks

**Forty winks **

_I updated! Finally! Sorry for the long delay – I was caught up in some things -cough homework cough- so… sorry again! This chapter is based on a scene in the Japanese drama Hana Kimi (which I love!). Also, sorry if Hitsugaya is a little OOC. Thanks for all of the reviews so far, and hope you enjoy this one! _

**Don't Own Bleach **

_I can stay here a little longer…can't I? _

Hitsugaya glances up from his paperwork.

The occupied sofa on the other side of the room immediately catches his eye. Matsumoto lay on the leather surface, snoring, hand draped over the edge, trailing on the floor, her hair played out around her head.

He sighs, and props his head up on his hand, observing his sleeping lieutenant. His eyes skim over the way her golden hair, highlighted by the midday sun streaming through the window, lays like a halo around her head, a large contrast to the ink black leather.

Actually, scratch that, he thought to himself. Her? An angel? He laughed mentally. Angels wouldn't get drunk, and not do paperwork. He went back to his observing.

He gazed on at the way her treasured pink scarf lays scrunched up over the arm, the dangling end fluttering slightly from the outside wind wafting through the open window. The way her face is all scrunched up, the way she shifts slightly from time to time, to reposition herself as in her dreams.

It's then he rethinks his earlier decision.

She may be selfish at times, completely unreliable, an utter imbecile, but she was still in her way an angel. Or rather, an outcast from heaven, for her drinking, which was the most probable answer.

He rests down his brush, and sighs.

He can barely keep his eyes open, as a wave of exhaustion passes over him. He had trouble sleeping last night – he was kept awake by the screams of nightmares and the sobs of the aftermath echo from the room next door. It seems to him that the only time she gets a peaceful, fit less sleep is on this sofa. He doesn't understand why, because surely a narrow leather sofa is less comfortable than a wide bed.

But then, he has a sudden thought, the sort of thought you have when you're half asleep, and even though he's right, he doesn't notice. He eases himself out of his desk chair, and makes his way towards the sleeping figure of his vice-captain, inspecting her for a few moments before lying down on the floor next to her, closing his eyes.

Just before he slippes into sleep, he reaches up and clasps her hand.

A few hours later, Matsumoto wakes with a yawn, only to notice that her hand is clasped tightly by her taicho, who is sleeping soundly on the floor. Her eyes widen momentarily, her whole face displaying her shock, and then she turns her eyes back up to the ceiling.

She really needs to move on, try and tackle the nightmares so that she can have a decent night's sleep. She needs to confront her weakness – a side that she hates showing to him. But at the moment, she is unable to step forward, unable to undertake what she really wants to do.

At the moment, her life is hell. It's almost like happiness has given up on her, like its laughing, taunting her in the shadows. But she keeps clinging on, only just, because of one good thing in her life.

Him.

She glances down at her taicho, unconscious of her gaze, frowning slightly at something in his dreams.

Maybe one day he'll know that the only reason why she can only sleep here is because she knows that he's nearby, and that she'll be safe.

Maybe one day, or maybe he's already figured it out.


	6. Moonlight Beams and Silent Smiles

**Moonlight Beams and Silent Smiles**

_First update in four months or something - sorry for the long delay! I've been really busy cause I'm moving to Japan in the summer, so didn't have enough time to sit down and write. It's not one of the best in this series of drabbles, and actually I'm not so confident about it. For this chapter I tried using a different style, like using the brackets to show off-hand thoughts, so I'd like to know what you think about it. In other words, please comment! Hitsugaya is a bit OOC though, and the title doesn't have a lot to do with the actual story. Kinda random, sorry.  
Oh, and the photograph part was inspired by a fic on LJ, so not completely original. _

**Don't Own Bleach **

_A picture speaks a thousand words_

one.

Hitsugaya doesn't quite know why there is a painting hanging on the wall when he walks into the office at dawn one morning. He hasn't seen it before, and when he asks, neither has the third seat of his division when he comes in to make his morning cup of tea. As far as he knows it could have come from some rubbish dump in one of the grubby outskirts of Rukongai, or even from the hallways of some noble's house. He inquires into it lightly, but no one around him seems to know anything.(he doesn't even know what style of art it would be, as he knows nothing of the world of art and paint and canvases.)

It seems to be a complex painting of crashing waves on a stormy night, capturing a freeze-frame so perfectly that he can almost taste the salt on the tip of his tongue and hear the wind whistling past his ears. He admires the panting from his desk, hands warmed by his mug of green tea, but one aspect of it confuses him slightly. Even though the image conveys the sea in the midst of a storm, there is an incomplete circle of silver in the right hand corner which seems to be the moon. He ponders over the mistake as he completes a stack of paperwork left untouched on the coffee table next to the sofa. (the table that Matsumoto insisted was hers, even though there is a perfectly clean and orderly lieutenants desk at the back of the room.)

A note is left on the top of the pile stating, _Off to the human world to visit Hime and the others, you'll do the work for me right? X_ in a black scrawl across the blotched piece of scrapped paper. The ripped ends lead Hitsugaya to turn the paper over, only to find that it was part of an incomplete confidential document that was due to be handed in last Thursday. He slid off his chair to inspect the contents of the waste paper basket next to the sofa, rummaging through mandarin skins and broken pieces of china from a favoured tea cup he hadn't seen in a while, until finally finding the missing pieces of the document in question. Returning to his desk, he restored the torn papers with a roll of cello tape that he kept in his drawer for emergencies and competed the necessary segments before handing it to his third seat, who had taken to sitting at the empty lieutenant's desk, and pouring himself another cup of his favourite tea to sit and inspect the mysterious painting once more.

two.

The next morning when Hitsugaya walks into the office he is greeted by the sight of his snoring vice-captain sprawled across the sofa with a frown on her face, and there is already a stack of paperwork waiting to be completed on his desk. As he makes his way across the room his eyes are unconsciously drawn by the painting from yesterday – there seems to be a slight addition to it in the form of a bird-like silhouette nearby the silver moon. He wonders if it is a completely different painting all together, or if the black smudge is just a squashed fly on the canvas. He can't be sure.

It is early afternoon and the sun has just crept beneath a cover of cloud when Matsumoto wakes. She yawns loudly and stretches her arms upwards, then proceeds to get up on her feet and walk towards the small attached kitchen. She places a kettle full of water on the flame, dragging out a traditional iron teapot and a bag of tea leaves from the overhead cupboards (and the secret bottle of whisky she keeps behind the stacks of tea cups, but her taicho doesn't have to know about that). Once the water is boiled and the tea leaves are left long enough to flavour the water, she pours out two even cups of the drink (slipping in a few drops of alcohol into hers) and carefully takes them back into the main room. She sets the cup of pure tea in front of Hitsugaya, who as usual has his nose buried in a document that seems to contain a few hundred pages, and sips at hers as she waits for his to notice her.

_How was the visit to Inoue's yesterday?_ he questions without lifting his gaze, tapping the page with a pen in his hand.

_Eventful. We went for a shopping spree down at the local department store and ended up spending about sixty-thousand yen. I put it on the division's bank account, of course. You don't mind do you?_

There is a smirk evident on her face as she waits for his reaction.

_You do know that that will come from your salary for this month._

Her face falls like a bag of potatoes. _That's completely unfair and uncalled for!_

_Oh, and by the way Matsumoto, _Hitsugaya looks up and indicates to the wall,_ do you have any idea where that picture over there came from?_

_I don't have any idea, taicho_, she replies without looking at the painting, her eyes glittering with silent laughter.

three.

Over the next few days, a number of new additions are made to the painting; a silver fish flying out from a crashing wave, a pure white lotus floating on the water, and the shadows of two figures standing on a cliff in the distance, one tall and one short, and if he remembered correctly, the waves looked as though they had calmed slightly and the skies above the ocean seemed to get lighter. Every morning when he enters the office, Hitsugaya makes sure that he inspects the canvas for any new additions, and spends the rest of the day wondering what on earth it was trying to signify. Until, one day, the painting was replaced altogether by a painting of a blue sky with some white candy-floss clouds. Even though it captured a completely different scene, it seemed to provoke the same emotions within him as the previous one did. The new image seemed to show two silhouettes of flying people (the same two people who were on the cliff of the stormy night, or very similar ones anyway, he thought), with ice blue wings and purple lotus petals falling from the sky. But only, this time Hitsugaya noticed a black scrawl of a signature in the corner of two initials that he could not make out. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar though.

What surprised Hitsugaya though was that Matsumoto had remained completely unmoved by the paintings, but always seemed to have an idea of what would appear in the picture the next day. He had questioned her about it over lunch at a nearby restaurant that served exceptionally delicious watermelon sorbet, but had only been quizzed in return by her on how he felt about it. Naturally, he simply stated he thought it was beautiful but did not quite understand the meaning behind the oil paints. _I see_, she had replied, watching as he called for another bowl of his favoured beverage, _let's see what happens next._

four.

The morning Matsumoto is due to leave for the human world for week-long assignment an envelope is left at Hitsugaya's desk. The cream walls are back to being plain and undecorated as the painting of the sky has disappeared completely from its usual spot on the wall opposite his desk.

When he walks in, he automatically notices the missing object but does not ponder on the matter long as he has a lot of work to complete regarding the dispatch of his division members to Karakura. He notices the small white envelope with his name scrawled on the front with messy black pen, and fishes out three photographs; one of some hands making a heart shape, another of Matsumoto's face with a lopsided grin (red and flushed with the influence of alcohol, he notes), and one of him from when he graduated from the academy, some decades ago (his face is screwed up in a deep frown as he holds his certificate, just as he remembers). He searches the inside of the envelope for a note of some kind but finds no indication of who it was from. He sits puzzled at his desk for sometime, attempting to figure out the meaning of the photographs, when something clicks in his mind.

He allows himself a little smile as he thinks about the message conveyed, and picks up a folder of paperwork from the coffee table but when he opens it, the contents are unexpected.

A number of different paintings all containing the same signature with two silhouettes, purple lotus flowers and ice blue wings emerge from the paper file, and it's then that he finally realises where he's seen the signed initials before (and why he didn't recognise them straight away, because he hardly ever sees them in the first place).

_Let's hope my art skills have improved over recent years_, he thinks, digging out some scrap paper and a box of neglected watercolours from last Christmas.

* * *

_A little note - how many people actually got the ending? If it was too confusing, please tell me and I'll change it so it's not so complicated. _


	7. Asphyxia

**Asphyxia.  
**Hitsugaya contemplates on the emotions from being in love.

_Update! I finally go some inspiration to write this from a song on myspace, so it may be a bit odd. This one doesn't actually have a story line, it's more like trying to convey Hitsugaya's emotions or something. Again, a completely different writing style so I'm looking for opinions. So, please comment! Exams coming up soon and i will be weighed down with revision and stuff until the beginning of June, and I may not be able to update during that time, so sorry in advance!  
Oh, and for people who were confused with the last chaper, Matsumoto was painting the pictures with the little hints, and if you rearrange the photographs you get 'Matsumoto, heart, Hitsugaya'._

****

**Don't Own Bleach **

_Asphyxia. A__ condition of suffocation resulting from restriction of oxygen intake and interference__with the elimination of carbon dioxide. _

Your world always used to be calm and repressed, consistently rotating silently, always predictable, _just the way you prefer things to be_. Everything was laid out for you in plain black and white, just because you liked the way monochrome colours are simple and predictable and _cold_, void of any emotion, just like you. Revolving continuously in the core of yourself, quietly, never straying out of line as you enjoyed taking long breaths of fresh early morning air while gazing up at the still sky. You like to have your two feet glued to the ground, down to earth just like your personality, not liking to be insignificant compared to the great blue of the heavens.

_It used to be just the way you liked it. _

Now, it's spinning out of your control, spinning rapidly and uncontrollably out of your reach, fuelled by the unknown, unnameable emotions that leak from inside you. Blurred, bright colours seem to jump out at you, but you can't work out where they're from of what they are because you're just too dizzy from spinning too fast, and right now you are incapable to comprehend anything. You're travelling at wild speeds that don't allow you to slow down to take even the most minute breath of air, making your lungs cry out for oxygen and your head spin even more than you though was ever possible. You're so _scared_ of this unfamiliar emotions and unpredictable thoughts, and it throws you so far out of your comfort zone. Your feet almost seem to be scraping the tips of skyscrapers, your hand ever so nearly grazing the rotating blue sky at such great heights, and you _like_ it. You frantically try to take a breath, starting to find even thinking such a challenge with the limited supply of oxygen coursing though your veins, only to find your body doesn't seem to let you. You don't want to panic, though, because the adrenalin rushes through you like fire and your heart's about to burst from the strain, not wanting to let the feelings that you don't _know_, can't _name_, tasting _oh-so-good_ on the tip of your tongue, silently slip away into the shadows of your mind, never to be heard of or felt again.

You _gasp_, spluttering for air, emotions just too addictive to let out of your grasp, so you let your world spin uncontrollably, eventually getting faster, faster, _faster_, edging closer, closer, _closer_ to the borderline of swirling pits full of even more fused colours, and you don't _care_ anymore.

But when it all comes down to it, the extravagantly flying colours all merge together somewhere deep in the core of your heart, to make _her._ And all you want to do is take her hand and let her lead you into this new, bright, fast-moving, _unpredictable _world that you never thought you'd like but now find yourself _craving_.

So you find yourself following her, breathless, struggling for air. You don't know if it's all the spinning, but her hair looks incredibly glossy and her eyes a deep, _deep_ imitation of charcoal, and she looks so _beautiful_ that it makes your world hurtle even more out of control. You don't mind if you suffocate as long as _she's_ _here_ with you.

_Who cares about the old world now?_


End file.
